You Wish You Were
by BelovedSlayer
Summary: She was harboring a secret. Keeping them in the dark was the only way she could have him without consequence.
1. Mine

**Author's Note: I wanted to write a what-if, what Buffy would do if she were to be selfish and not worry about the consequences. You'll see what I mean. This takes place sometime after Beauty and the Beasts. Warning for some adult content.**

Dread succumbed to her as she stood in front of the vanity mirror. She reaches for the padded brush, setting it down, then picking it up again, indecisiveness marring her features. Her heart fought desperately to be torn out of her chest and onto the floor.

All she had to do was get through the dinner. Only then could she leave to see her beloved.

Even though it had been twenty-four hours since she last felt his cold lips on hers, being without him was the literal definition of hell, a soul without a living host.

He was alone in the mansion, a savaged prisoner in chains.

Her heart wrenched in both longing and guilt.

The guilt lasted momentarily.

For now, all she could think about was him. As long as they were in the dark, she could have him to herself.

He would be safe with her.

In her arms.

She gave him her word.

 _Sometime after midnight…_

She lays spread-eagled across his bed, the red velvet sheets the only barrier surrounding them.

"Just do it," she pleaded to him, her voice husky with both lust and love.

Without a word, he thrusts into her, their bodies moving in a slow, ascending rhythm.

Moans fill the darkened room, nails digging into his cold, bare flesh.

She whispers in his ear, begging him to do it.

He smiles.

She feels the sharpness of fangs, a euphoric rush colliding with her orgasm as he drinks in deeply.

Their bodies collapsing from ecstasy, they fall into sleep, not worrying about tomorrow.


	2. Sunrise

They lay in silence as the sun begins to rise, blissfully content after an endless night of passion.

Cold, elongated fingers met warm, slender ones, their hands intertwining as one. It was a moment when she didn't feel the burden of the world pressing against her.

Not fighting. Not bleeding. Not killing. Not dying.

In his arms, she was a normal girl.

In his arms, she allows herself to forget everything that wasn't him.

Nothing else matters to her.

"Was it good for you?" he murmurs against her ear, trailing tiny kisses along her cheekbone until he stopped at the base of her neck.

Shivers coarsed through her skin.

"The best. Well, if you don't count chocolate chip mint fudge ice cream that is," she replies with a smirk, turning her body to face him.

Brown eyes met hazel ones, their irises heightening at their peak.

They were too absorbed in each other's presence to notice anything else.

"It's almost dawn. The sun's about to rise," she points out, releasing her hand from his as she wrapped her arm listlessly around his waist.

"Let it. I'm not scared," he replied confidently.

A single eyebrow arched at his words.

"Have you forgotten what happens when you meet the sun? Angel, ashy. Angel, no more. Angel, go poof." She tries to keep the concern out of her voice.

Angel's steady gaze burned holes into her soul; his only response a smile that nearly shook her to the core. Forcing herself to break eye contact, she tilts her head towards the ceiling as a single beam of sunlight kissed the edge of the bed, its warmth seeping through the disarray of velvet sheets.

Daylight was beginning to cocoon the mansion with its searing warmth.

"Damnit Angel, I'm serious. I lost you before. I don't think I could handle losing you again. Please get up." She tries to blink back tears, but fails. Wetness fills the brim of her eyes as she rises from the bed, clutching the velvet sheet to her body as she reaches for her lover's hand.

He wraps hers in his, kissing it with the civility of a perfect gentleman.

It was a kiss, she was certain, that was meant to console, to comfort. His thumb begins to stroke her palm in an effort to soothe her fears.

"I know Buffy, I know. You don't have to be afraid. There's...there's something I want to show you."

He stood to his feet in a swift motion as he pulled on his robe.

He leads her through the living room hand in hand, the fireplace logs they pass by cackling. The white-hot flames dances wildly beside it.

They were heading towards the garden.

A place filled with memories that remains painful and too fresh in her mind.

Buffy pulls at his arm with her free hand, mustering every once of her Slayer strength in an attempt to prevent him from stepping outside.

"No, Angel, I won't let you," she orders, but to no avail.

Angel continues to lead her as they made their way outside, the scent of jasmines and orchids wafting in the chill air.

The edges of the sun peaked over the ascending concrete stairs, embracing the garden in its arms.

Its light illuminates Angel's face, as if welcoming him for the first time into the world.

He stands motionless as Buffy is taken aback, shock and awe overwhelming her.

How many times has she dreamt of this?

How many times has she dreamt of Angel walking in the sun, not turning into swirling dust before her?

How many times has she dreamt of kissing him in that way?

She finally releases her iron grip on him but goes to stand by his side, keeping her eyes lowered.

"Angel, how can you be…?" she whispers, fingers grazing his.

"Human?"

"Yeah. Am I dreaming? Is this all in my head?"

He shakes his head. "No. And there's one thing I want to ask that I've been wanting to ask you for a very long time."

"What?"

" I want you to marry me."


	3. A House In Flames

Her body sways while the world slips away from her feet.

Angel's proposal sinks into her mind, and she struggles to adapt.

Angel being wholly human was one thing, but to ask her to marry him? That was something else entirely.

Somewhere along the reasonable part of herself, she ponders if there was not some malicious purpose behind this; if it wasn't a ploy by fate to punish them in some capacity just for simply wanting to be together.

She turns once again to face her beloved, her eyes pleading into his. "Angel…you know more than anything in this world I would say yes, but…are you sure you want to do this? This is a huge step, and after everything we've been through…"

Angel lifts a finger to her lips, silencing her.

"I've never been so sure of anything Buffy. I love you more than the breath I'm taking. You're still my girl aren't you?"

"Always," she murmurs.

He takes her mouth in his immediately, warmth fighting against warmth, breaths mingling, tongues clashing. With a wave of desperation, Buffy circles her arms around his neck, clinging him to her as if she was one moment away from losing him forever.

She ends their kiss abruptly. Her mouth trembles. She's surprised to find her eyes marring with tears, each fresh trail dripping onto the cold concrete beneath them.

She runs her hands along his cheekbones, cradling his head before taking his mouth to hers, their eyes closing as they lose themselves in the moment once more.

But then…

"Angel, Giles and the others…they don't know that you're alive."

Buffy holds her breath, awaiting his reaction. She grasps his hands, clenching them as if they were her life support.

 _And they are_ , she tells herself.

"We'll deal when the time comes. I promise you."

Angel pulls her into his embrace, delivering a kiss at the crown of her hair.

In spite of his reassurances, a sinking feeling draws forth in the pit of the Slayer's stomach.

More tears matted her face.

Something told her that their moment, their brief time together under the sun, was about to come to an end.

 _Six months later..._

It was the moment of reckoning.

The day that Buffy had yearned for and yet feared vehemently.

She and Angel were finally facing the moment of becoming husband and wife.

It was no longer a fade away dream.

No longer a fantasy she often thought of over and over.

It was now a reality.

"Mom, where's my six-inch heels? I can't find them." Buffy ducks under the vanity mirror, hands reaching out, scrambling in a feign attempt to find her bridal shoes.

"Honey, did you check the closet?" asks the Mother of the Bride, Joyce.

"Um, no actually. I'll go look."

The truth is, it was more than butterflies littering Buffy's stomach. It was a feeling dwelling inside her that was almost inexplicable to put into words.

Finding the shoes was a vague excuse to distract her from her impending sense of doom.

Giles and Angel were slowly making amends. Oz, Willow, Xander, Cordelia; they were on their way. Joyce and Angel aired out their grievances.

A knock on the door interrupts Buffy's frantic thoughts.

"Come in!"

"Buffy?" comes Angel's hushed voice as he leans over the doorway.

Her eyes widen. "Angel! You're not supposed to see the bride, remember? Tradition."

"I know." Angel enters the bridal suite. "I wanted to check to see if you were okay. I had this sense that something's wrong."

"I…it's nothing, really." Buffy quickly looks away, gazing at the mirror as if it was the most interesting object in the room.

She feels the tips of his fingers grazing her chin, lifting her head as her eyes penetrates into his.

"Tell me," Angel presses.

"I…I don't know how to explain. It's just a feeling I've been having. The ones I used to always get when something tries to come between us." A pensive look etches her face, her eyes darken as soon as the words came out.

Again, Angel holds her against him, his expression fierce yet composed.

"I promise you nothing will happen. Not on this day. Not with us. I don't want you to worry okay?" He lowers his voice and gives her a smoldering kiss. The kiss is filled with both love and longing.

"Okay." Buffy's voice shakes.

Angel strengthens his hold on her hand. An engagement ring with a 3-carat diamond and band inscription gleams under a wall sconce.

"Let's get married."

The sun begins to hide behind the horizon; it reminds the church attendees that night was coming.

All eyes are on the couple who fought heaven and hell to be as one, taking in the vows sealing their future together. They end it with a thousanth kiss, making it official. Hands, hugs, and other signs of emotional expression pass between them and their guests.

When the ceremony ends, the husband and wife make their way towards the wooden arched doors, watching the last rays of the sun disappear, their hands joining together.

"See, my beautiful and loving wife. Nothing happened," Angel cajoles with a smile. "You had nothing to worry about."

Buffy flashes a sheepish grin. "I guess I didn't. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Angel leans in for a quick kiss.

Buffy catches it and returns it with a passion, before her eyes caught sight of something that stands out from the reception.

Something that shouldn't be.

Everything comes to a standstill.

Her husband isn't aware, but Buffy's eyes targets a shadowy figure dressed in a deep velvet hooded cloak. The wedding guests don't seem to notice, as if the figure was utterly invincible.

From what she could decipher, it was tall, and male. At her distance, it was difficult to pinpoint his facial features.

Angel's hand in hers becomes scorching hot, as if his body was going to be caught on fire.

To her horror, it is.

She pulls her hand away, appalled as her husband's body withers and burns in the flame; the arm holding her hand reaches out to her.

"Buffy," Angel whimpers.

She detects no pain in his voice, only sadness.

No one in the reception notices what's happening. Only the mystery man in the purple cloak.

"Angel," Buffy mourns.

She tries to go near him, but the flames prevent her from doing so.

A voice whispers in her ear, unfamiliar, sending chills down her spine.

"The cause of great suffering, dear Slayer, is desire."

Just like that, Buffy's eyes flicker open. She inhales deeply and rises from the bed; beads of sweat drenches her face until they drip onto the thick comforters. She meticulously tosses them aside, rubbing her weary face before marching towards the window of her dilapidated apartment.

She looks to see a vision of downtown L.A. welcoming her.

She sighs.

She's on the verge of crying. That dream of Angel...though it was not real, it threathens to tear her apart.

The pain she felt. Him burning in front of her eyes.

She's lost count of the times she's cried anytime she dreams of him.

Her eyes start to moist.

Then she hears it.

Something like paper rustling.

She turns her body towards the bed. A single piece of notebook paper lies there, waiting to be touched.

Her Slayer senses heighten as she takes a cautious step forward.

Then another.

Then another.

She reaches the edge of the bed and grabs it.

She scans it, her face unreadable.

In perfect calligraphy, it reads:

"The cause of great suffering is desire."

 _ **Author's Note: A huge part of this chapter is inspired by Buffy's desire to live a normal life and is also due to the Halliwell sisters (Charmed) wanting a normal life. In some episodes of Charmed, they explore whether their desires were so selfish that it would risk the lives of the people they were meant to protect and that was something I wanted to explore in this story as a whole. As to whether Buffy was dreaming during the entire duration of the story, I'm leaving that interpretation up to you guys, though judging by the ending, maybe it wasn't a mere dream after all. You'll also notice a few sort of canon tidbits from season three here.**_


End file.
